


This is the Discovery Channel Speaking, How May We Direct Your Call?

by TehChou



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alpha Males, Animalistic, Bloodplay, Charles that is Rude, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehChou/pseuds/TehChou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has a secret. Charles pries.</p><p>Written for this prompt on the kink meme: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/5215.html?thread=6665567#t7045983</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is the Discovery Channel Speaking, How May We Direct Your Call?

Erik has been acting strange all day. He has been snappish. His normally fairly extensive, if a bit direct, vocabulary has been reduced to monosyllabic snarls. At one point, Charles thinks, Erik had actually _growled_ at Hank when he'd walked in the door, a peculiar over reaction, Charles believes. He hadn't growled at Alex, anyways.

Erik palms his bare ass, cupping the firm flesh in his long, tapered fingers. Charles makes a soft noise and scratches the desk.

"Am I allowed in, now," he mutters as Erik sucks a bruising kiss onto his inner thigh. Charles' legs are spread, toes curled against the tile. He is naked, and so is Erik. Erik had undressed them thoroughly almost ten minutes ago, mere secounds before he'd bodily forced him up against the desk. Erik had spun him around and Charles had caught himself against the wood.

Charles squirms at the kiss of air against sensitive skin. Apparently, Erik doesn't like the results because he lets out a frustrated 'whuff' and _squeezes_ and Charles finds he doesn't care about being considerate, about being polite. He wants to know _what is going on_.

Erik had asked him earlier, in the terse way he got when he was uncomfortable, to stay out.

"I'll act a little. . . odd. Just- just leave it, Charles." He ground his teeth a little. "Humor me."

And of course, being a particular brand of idiot, Charles had agreed and now he was being groped and practically _molested_ against his own desk.

Erik swipes a thumb over the hole between his ass cheeks. Charles swallows and admits privately that molested is not a 'practically', Charles can own up to under-exaggerating for decorum's sake. He's a big boy.

Charles finds, to his own discomfort, that he can't really bring himself to mind, certainly can't bring himself to say no. He still wants to _understand_ , though and so he opens his mind, slips past the cracked blocks he's thrown up against the shushing of Erik's thoughts and slides back in.

Oh. That's why he'd been so uncomfortable.

There's the press of something wet against Charles' hole and he whimpers and remembers that there is a more pressing situation to attend to. Charles can work out the mechanics and rhythm of what is, apparently, Erik's secound mutation, at a later time. Yes. He can do this.

. . . _Heat_ , really? He isn't even sure he's ever heard a case of a male going into heat and it’s so completely opposite of the female estrous cycle. He's so possessive, and he'd growled at Hank because he'd _smelled_ funny and-

Erik's tongue slips past the ring of muscle, licking, lips locking around flesh. Charles' fingers curl up against the wood of the desk, the joints going white with the force of his pressure.

"Oh god," he chokes and has to remember how to breathe. More important things, definitely, because Erik's tongue is hot and wet and _animated_ and it's no wonder Charles doesn't have it in him to resist.

Erik's worked in deep, already thick and he's sucking with bruising force. Charles' hips roll, pressing back against him and the firm presence of hands on his backside grow taught, an unyielding wall. Charles pants and holds still, because Erik's mind had gone bright when he'd moved; he'd _refused_ him his movement. Apparently Charles was just meant to sit there and look pretty while Erik fucked him senseless, a delicate ornament to his his frenzy, one to be broken and used. Charles groans and hangs his head. Erik's insistent fingers are moving against his flesh, crawling in inches closer and closer to his hole. Now science and method is the last thing on Charles' mind as Erik lets off the sucking and one slender digit slip in beside his tongue. He crooks it deep and spittle is no substitute for lubricant but Charles imagines the friction, imagines how _good_ Erik's cock is going to feel up inside him and moans.

Erik will be suffering through it with him. He'll probably be chaffing in the morning.

Charles is hazily surprised to find that Erik is careful with him, that he prepares him studiously, adding first one finger, then two. He eventually pulls out his tongue entirely (Charles protests the loss, but Erik ignores him, his voice registering as barely a blip on the radar of his mind) and replaces it with a third and a forth, working and stretching and there's more then enough slick spit to ease his way.

He never once touches his prostate.

Charles begs, but it isn't his near sobbing pleads that get Erik up and over him, cock resting hot and insistent against his ass. No, Erik has decided it's time, Erik has decided he can't wait anymore and he spits out more lubricant into his hand and onto his cock.

He slides in and Charles' mind whites out for a long moment, blank and unable to process. He's still bigger than the girth of his fingers and he _stretches_ into him. Charles pants, but there's no oxygen in the air, only heat and warmth and Erik's _cock_.

He wriggles beneath him, trying to tease out a thread of control, but Erik _growls_ , again, a startling rumble that builds up slowly, reverberating through his body, up from his throat and down to his finger tips. It's a surprising contrast to the noise he'd made earlier at Hank; a warning, both, but now filled with something stronger, less in control. Charles shivers, tense and on edge. Erik clamps his hand around the back of his neck, strong fingers like a vice. Erik forces his head down. With a sharp cry, Charles is knocked off his hands. His cheek is mashed up against the wood, mouth hanging open. His ass cants up, as his spine dips without the support of his hands, a high arc that displays pert flesh and the cock that's rutting between it. Erik slips in another inch, and another and his way is eased by the angle. Charles moans and tries not to drool.

The force of his thrusts rocks the desk, rocks Charles into it, inching it backwards. Every few snaps of his hips Erik has to take a little step forward, dragging Charles, helpless, with him.

Charles burns, his want scorches him. He shifts his boneless hands under him, tries to grip his own neglected cock, but Erik slaps his hand away. Charles protests.

"Erik, _please_ ," he groans, words distorted against the grain of the wood. "I _need_ -"

But Erik is already replacing his hand with his own. His grip is tight, bony fingers just on the _good_ side of rough. Charles lets out a high noise of approval until the hand at his neck disappears. Erik sprawls out over his back and replaces the meat of his palm with the sharpness of _teeth_.

Charles goes ridged. Erik's mouth is stretched out over ridges of spine. This is not a love bite, no nip of flesh. This is claiming in its most base sense, he can _taste Erik tasting his blood_ and Charles is coming almost before he registers it's going to happen, his balls drawn up tight to his body.

Erik lets out a low, pleased rumble, teeth vibrating against broken skin, apparently satisfied with Charles' offering. His pace speeds up, punishing and cruel and all Charles can do is grip the sides of the desk and ride through it. It's sensation, high and wild and Charles is still moaning half-heartedly as his mind melts into a puddle. Erik thrusts incessantly through his own orgasm, pounding his come deep into Charles, again and again and again.

"Oh god," Charles repeats, chokes when Erik finally slumps against him, releasing the hold on his neck and crowding him bodily into the desk. Charles thinks, maybe, he could be, just a little bit, _purring_ , and he doesn't quite know what do with that besides start to _laugh_. Erik's mind is still, now, but he manages to shift groggily, anyways.

"What," he mutters and Charles shakes his head, feels wet run in little trickles down his neck and goes quiet.

"Why didn't you tell me," he murmurs, finally. He feels Erik shrug against his back.

"I didn't think you'd let me," he replies, a bit sullenly. Full faculties are apparently returning now that he's gotten off. Charles wants to giggle, again, but he holds it in and shifts in his arms. Erik's cock pulls free of his ass and he lets up enough that Charles isn't doing impressive acrobatics to hold him, to stroke his palms up and down his arms.

"Since when have I ever refused you," he asks and Erik just blinks a lot and shakes his head.

"A moment," he mutters. "I need a moment," and Charles agrees, very much agrees as he shifts and feels a trickle of come leak out to run down his thighs. He very carefully and very unsteadily leads them both over to the couch. Charles tips them over, spread out on top of Erik and buries his head in his shoulder.

"We need," Erik grumbles as he shifts to get more comfortable. "To talk about your lack of. . . ." He trails off, seems to lose the thread of his thoughts. "Boundaries. You're very. . .bad at them." Erik is not quite up to his normal capacity. Charles buries his face deeper into the crook of his shoulder and wonders if maybe he did take things a little too far.

"But later," Erik adds and Charles makes a quiet noise of agreement as Erik's mind presses with exhaustion against his own. "Later," and he falls into sleep. Charles slides off him, sits himself up on a bare snatch of couch and rubs the back of his neck. He winces when it hurts and draws his hand away to stare at the little newly rusted flakes that stand out against his skin.

"Right," he mutters to himself. "Boundaries, yes. I should definitely remember those," and he gets up and he cleans himself and Erik's sleeping form and then goes downstairs to fall back on the old British stand by of making tea.

Because he _is_ uncomfortable and can't help but feel he's crossed some line that shouldn't have been. He swallows an almost scaldingly hot mouthful and sets the cup down on the table.

Well. He should probably go find a few of his father's scarves.

**Author's Note:**

> LALALALA SHAMESLESS I AM SHAMELESS


End file.
